


As Good as it Gets

by JhanaMay



Series: A Holiday Affair [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Grey-Asexual Castiel, M/M, Past Donnie/Dean Winchester, Some Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 23:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10954626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: It’s been three months since Dean’s strange relationship with his next door neighbor changed yet again. It isn’t what most people would consider normal, but nothing about them really is. While Dean is happier than he’s ever been, he’s ready to take the next step beyond chaste make-out sessions and platonic cuddling. Courting Castiel hasn’t exactly been easy, so Dean shouldn’t be surprised when their physical relationship hits a few speed bumps.





	1. Part One - Dean

**Author's Note:**

> It's been over a year, so I'm super excited to return to these guys. As soon as I saw the posting for the Asexual Supernatural Mini-Bang, I knew that it was exactly what I needed to inspire me to continue this story. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> You can find the awesome art by Kris [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10952856) You can also find her on Tumblr as KrisN5.
> 
> Special thanks for destimushi for betaing, as usual!

Contentment isn’t a familiar feeling for Dean. He’s been happy; it’s not like his life has been miserable. He has family and friends, a job he loves, and a home of his own. No matter how well things were going, though, something was always missing.

He stretches his legs out in front of him, sinking deeper into the plush cushions, and drops one hand to rest on his boyfriend’s hair. The soft strands tickle his fingers. Cas lies on the couch, his dark head resting on Dean’s lap and his book forgotten on the floor next to them.

Boyfriend is something else Dean hasn’t experienced. He’s gone out with people, sure—men and women—but boyfriend implies more than casual hookups and drinks a few times per month. It’s cooking for two and not going to bed alone, even when they’re just sleeping. It’s also kissing whenever he wants.

Taking advantage of the biggest perk, Dean pauses his video game and bends to press his lips to Cas’ temple. Cas smiles, the corner of his eye crinkling. “You should’ve bought more potions in the last village.”

Dean chuckles. “You’re such a romantic, babe.”

“Those draugr have high health, Dean. When you faced one before, you died six times and had to use that scroll you were saving.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Dean says, letting his hand slip down to trace the shell of Cas’ ear. “Are you sure you don’t want to play? I can set you up with a character and let you go to town.”

Cas shudders and pushes his head into Dean’s hand, stretching lazily. “I’ve never played a video game. I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

“Won’t know till you try.” Dean nudges his shoulder with the edge of the controller. “Come on, sit up.”

There’s a fair amount of grumbling, but Cas rolls over and sits up, blinking with drowsiness. “I was enjoying watching you.”

Dean scrolls through the menus with quick, deft flicks of his thumb, ignoring Cas’ protest. After a few minutes, a dark-haired man in rough leather armor stands in the center of the screen. His eyes are bright blue, and he would pass for Cas if it weren’t for the long, jagged scar Dean gave him. He chuckles and hands Cas the controller.

“Is that what I look like to you?” Cas asks, holding it with two fingers as if it might shock him.

“It’s the bad ass version of you.”

Cas rolls his eyes, and Dean laughs, darting in to steal another kiss. “Show me what to do.”

The game opening is a lot of cutscenes and explanation, and Cas endures it. Once the action starts—the giant dragon swooping down on the town and wreaking havoc—Cas’ unfamiliarity with the controller is clear. He runs into walls, gets stuck between two large rocks, and runs right into the path of the dragon’s fiery breath, securing himself a grisly death. By the time he dies, he’s scowling, and his shoulders hunch with tension.

Dean rests his hands on Cas’ shoulders and squeezes, kneading the stiffness away. “Hey, it’s not a big deal, you know? Everyone sucks at first.” He continues to squeeze until Cas’ shoulders slump, and the tension bleeds away.

“I would rather watch you play,” Cas admits, leaning into Dean’s touch. “You chew on your lip when you’re in the middle of a battle.” He reaches up and presses his fingertips to Dean’s lips, his eyes darkening when Dean swipes the tip of his tongue over it.

“Every adventurer needs a companion,” Dean points out, pulling back so he can press a chaste kiss to Cas’ fingertips. “You can be my Rose Tyler.”

Cas scoffs. “No, but I’ll be your Amy Pond.”

Dean can’t stop the bubble of laughter. The ability to make Doctor Who jokes is another reason he’s sure the universe made Cas just for him. He tugs the controller out of Cas’ hand and tosses it toward the coffee table before pushing Cas back against the couch. “Maybe I’d rather you be my Jack Harness.” Cas’ mouth is perfect, warm and soft, and Dean is addicted to the way their lips meld together. It’s only been three months since their relationship changed to include kissing, but Dean will never get enough.

When Dean slides his hands up to tangle in Cas’ hair, Cas’ lips part on a soft sigh. Dean presses in to deepen the kiss, and Cas murmurs against his lips, “I could be your Rory Williams.”

Another laugh. “A giant dork is what you are,” Dean says, punctuating his words with another kiss.

“But I’m your giant dork.”

“Yeah.” Dean curls in to drag his lips across Cas’ throat, mouth ticking up into into a smile. “You are.” He settles his weight against Cas’ chest, allowing Cas to pull him back up to his mouth. They kiss for a while, trading soft, breathy moans until Dean realizes he’s getting hard.

Dean has always enjoyed sex, and his partners haven't complained, so he figures he must be okay at it. He and Cas sometimes spend hours making out, and Dean has no complaints about that either. He can’t shake the feeling, though, that something is wrong.

Shifting his weight to make himself more comfortable, Dean lets his hands trail down Cas’ sides. Normally he would rock against his partner to get more friction—the first steps to getting them both off—but Cas almost always freezes when he does that. Instead, Dean eases to the side and continues to let his hands roam. When he reaches the bottom edge of Cas’ t-shirt, he slips his fingers under the hem to graze the soft skin there. He hesitates, waiting to see if Cas pushes him away.

It isn’t that Cas doesn’t like being touched, or at least Dean doesn’t think that’s the problem. Cas is affectionate in casual ways, even though he’s rarely casual about anything else. He reaches out to hold Dean’s hand when they’re in public, and he’s generous with hugs. Most mornings, Dean wakes up with Cas wrapped around him in a way that screams Cas is comfortable with their lack of personal space. It only gets weird when things become intimate.

Cas arches his back, pushing his body into Dean’s touch, and Dean lets out the breath he was holding. Touching Cas like this always gives Dean a thrill, like he’s getting away with something. Cas isn’t as open about his past as Dean is, but from the things he has shared, Dean is sure he has horrible experiences hiding there. It makes sense that Cas would hesitate to jump right into a physical relationship. Cas doesn’t jump right into anything.

Focusing on the smooth, warm skin beneath his palms, Dean splays his fingers wide, pushing the material up a little. His lips tingle from the scrape of Cas’ stubble, and it’s getting harder and harder to stop himself from dipping his head to run his tongue across Cas’ abdomen. They haven’t established any clear boundaries, but he’s sure that would freak Cas right out. Instead, he pushes his hands higher, curving around Cas’ ribs, and nibbles at the underside of Cas’ jaw. When Cas moans and fists his hands in the back of Dean’s shirt, tipping his head to give Dean more access, Dean smiles against his throat.

Continuing the dual exploration of Cas’ skin, Dean trails his lips back to tug on Cas’ earlobe while running his hands down Cas’ sides. The way Cas’ muscles bunch under Dean’s fingertips when he shifts into Dean’s touch is electrifying. Dean focuses on sucking a small mark into the hollow behind Cas’ ear and doesn’t notice how far his hands have roamed until Cas’ whole body tenses. He jerks away from Cas’ waistband, praying he can pretend nothing happened for a few more moments, but the change in Cas’ breathing tells him it’s too late.

Dean keeps his lips pressed to Cas’ neck in denial, but the yawn Cas lets out is so forced that Dean almost calls him on it. “Tomorrow will be a long day,” Cas says, his voice still a husky rasp. “We should get to sleep.”

For a moment, Dean thinks about pretending he didn’t hear. He could pull Cas back under, try to prolong the pleasure for a few more minutes, but it would only delay the inevitable. He already ruined things. With a huff of frustration, Dean pushes himself up and runs one hand through his hair. “Cas, I’m sorry I—”

Cas winces. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Dean,” he whispers. “I’m just not…”

“Ready,” Dean supplies in the same soft tone. “Yeah, I know. It’s okay.” He reaches for Cas’ hand to pull him up, angling his body away so Cas can’t see his state. The awkwardness that followed the first time Cas noticed Dean’s arousal is an experience Dean doesn’t want to repeat. Cas is usually so direct that two hours of no eye contact is more than he can take. “Why don’t you get ready for bed? I'm gross from working in the yard today so I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

Dean doesn’t think Cas is unaware of what he does in the bathroom after their make out sessions, but it’s important to keep up the charade. At least it makes Dean feel less like a creep. Cas pauses as if he wants to say something, then nods and turns toward the bedroom. Dean follows him in, but instead of going into the attached master bath, he grabs his pajamas and heads down the hallway to the second bathroom.

Once he shuts the door behind him, Dean leans against it with a thud and presses one hand against his traitorous dick. “You’re not helping,” he tells it morosely. When it gives a weak twitch, Dean sighs. Jerking off after making out with Cas has become the sum total of his sex life, so it’s not like he can blame his body for reacting. As much as he enjoys being with Cas, celibacy is getting old.

Dean turns the shower on and adjusts it to a comfortable temperature. The first few times, he’d taken a cold shower and denied himself any release at all, feeling guilty the entire time. After two months, though, that’s not practical. If his own hands are the only way he’s getting off, then he’s damn well going to be comfortable doing it. He ignores the twinge of guilt when he pulls out the waterproof lube he stashed under the sink, stripping down and climbing into the shower with it.

He forces himself to wash first, knowing he won't want to do it later. Once the water from his hair runs clean, he squirts a little of the lube into his hand and wraps a shaky fist around his cock. In the beginning, he’d forced himself to get to the edge in the most perfunctory way possible. Now, though, he savors the image of Cas arched under him, warm skin beneath his hands, and the taste of Cas’ tongue in his mouth.

A soft moan escapes, and he imagines it’s Cas’ hand stroking him, that if he opens his eyes, he’ll find aquamarine ones staring back at him. Imagining Cas there with him in the shower, water sluicing down his naked body, is all it takes. The orgasm punches through him, and by the time he opens his eyes the spray has washed all the evidence away.

With a shaky breath, Dean gives himself one last rinse and turns off the water. The usual fuzzy-soft afterglow of a good orgasm is missing. His body enjoyed the release, but the rest of him wants to be in bed, wrapped around Cas as they fall asleep. He towels off, pulls on his pajamas, and pads down the hallways to the bedroom. Cas curls on his side facing away from the door, but he makes a soft sound of contentment when Dean climbs under the covers and presses against his back. Dean breathes in the familiar scent of him, relaxing into the warmth of Cas’ body as he drifts to sleep.


	2. Part One - Dean

“Did you grab the potato salad out of the fridge?”

Cas holds up the tote bag he’s carrying in response. John has everything they need for the picnic already set up at the farmhouse, but Dean would rather not assume. He squeezed two more lawn chairs and a cooler filled with ice into the trunk just in case. He stows the potato salad in the cooler and lets the trunk slam shut with a thud.

Dean takes it easy as he navigates through the narrow residential streets, but as soon as he hits the straight stretch outside town, he put his foot down hard on the gas pedal. The first time Dean did this, Cas grabbed onto his seat belt with a squeak and didn’t let go until Dean slowed down again. This time, Cas only gives Dean a fond smile and rolls his eyes.

Once the need is out of his system, Dean lets the Impala slow to a more sedate speed and flicks another glance at Cas. He shouldn’t have waited to talk about the party—or rather, the guest list for the party—but there was never a good time. He can’t put it off any longer.

“Memorial Day is a big deal for us. Bobby was in the Army and Granpap Winchester died in Korea.” Dean keeps his eyes on the road.

“That makes sense.”

Dean nods, stealing another glance at Cas out of the corner of his eye. “There’s gonna be a lot of people you haven’t met. Christmas is just the family and a couple close friends, but Dad likes to invite everyone we know to the picnic.”

When Dean chances a full look at Cas, he’s frowning. “Although I choose not to socialize with many people, it doesn’t mean I’m afraid of crowds. I talk to strangers every day at work, Dean.”

“I know. It’s not that.” Dean rushes to reassure him. He doesn’t want a repeat of the argument that occurred the last time he’d pointed out that Cas is a little socially awkward. Cas didn’t talk to him for six hours, and it was awful. “I know everyone will love you. It’s just that there’s this guy and, well, we’ve got history.”

“History,” Cas repeats, following the word with a long pause. “You’ve had sex with him, you mean?”

Dean sighs. Sometimes Cas being so freaking smart is both a blessing and a curse. “Yeah, I mean, we did. Before I met you, me and Donnie used to hook up sometimes. Not anymore, obviously.”

Cas doesn’t respond and Dean wishes he could tell what he’s thinking. After a moment, Cas nods once. “You’ve had other relationships. It would be silly for me to get upset about the chance of running into someone with whom you’ve been intimate.”

“Yeah, right, and Donnie knows I’m with you now. He knows it’s over, been over.”

Cas quirks one eyebrow. “Then why are you so jumpy about it?”

It’s irritating that Dean can’t read Cas at all most of the time, but Cas doesn’t seem to have that problem. “Donnie’s kind of an asshole sometimes, and when he’s drinking, he gets flirty. That’s how we hooked up. Just, if he says or does anything out of line, I’m gonna shut it down. So you don’t need to get upset about it. I’m not encouraging him or anything. I’m happy with you.”

“Okay,” Cas says with a small smile. He reaches over and takes Dean’s hand from the steering wheel, twining their fingers together. “I’m happy, too.”

Dean doesn’t let go until they’re pulling up the long driveway. There are cars parked along the entire length, but Dean follows it to where it curves around behind the barn. There’s only room for one more car in the small gravel patch.

Charlie greets them as they get out. “I’m glad you guys finally made it,” she says, wrapping one arm around Dean’s waist.

“We’re not even late. Lunch isn’t for another forty-five minutes.” He returns the hug and kisses her temple before letting go. She follows them to the trunk and pulls out the chairs while Dean hefts the cooler out.

“The natives are getting restless,” she says, tugging the chairs back with a scowl when Cas tries to take them. “Sam set up games for the kids, and someone was stupid enough to give your dad a water gun. If he shoots Bobby one more time, we might end up needing to call the cops. You have to distract him.”

It turns out their arrival is enough to distract John from his campaign. Dean passes the Super Soaker to Charlie behind John’s back and drags him into a discussion about the Royals’ chances against the Tigers. Dean has never been all that into baseball, but it’s worth it to avoid a family feud.

Dozens of people pack the backyard, many of whom Dean hasn’t seen since the Memorial Day picnic last year, and the happy screams of children fill the yard. Besides the water guns, Sam also set up Nerf guns, volleyball, horseshoes, a Slip ‘N Slide, and two different sprinklers. When a girl in a spotted bikini runs past, Dean realizes he remembers the year she was born. It may have taken them a long time to get here, but the past decade has treated the Winchester family well.

“Come help me fire up the grill,” John says, sidestepping two boys with Nerf guns. When Dean looks back at Cas, John laughs. “He’s fine. The family ain’t gonna bite him. Anyway, Ellen likes him more than she likes you.”

“Go ahead, Dean.” Cas leans in and gives him a chaste kiss, and even the light pressure leaves Dean’s lips tingling. “I wanted to ask Ellen how she liked the book I loaned her. Go light things on fire with your father.”

John barks out a laugh. “See. You don’t need to hover. There ain’t a ring on his hand; you don’t have to be joined at the hip.”

Dean’s cheeks burn, but he knows better than to argue when his dad is in a mood. He gives Cas a small wave as he’s dragged off to the grill on the far side of the yard. Despite John’s words, he doesn’t let Dean anywhere near the grill. Instead, he relegates Dean to forming patties from the huge bowl of seasoned ground beef and wrapping the corn cobs in foil. When he finishes, the hamburgers and corn—and kielbasa, skewers of mixed vegetables, and hot dogs—crowd the grill.

“You seem happy,” John says, closing the lid of the grill and reaching into the cooler next to it. He comes up with a beer and soda, and he pops the caps off both of them before holding the beer out to Dean.

Dean always feels guilty when he drinks in front of his dad, but if John wanted Dean to stop drinking just because he can’t, Dean figures he would say something. “I am. I mean, me and Cas are good,” he says, and it’s the truth. He isn’t thrilled about their non-existent sex life, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t happy.

“Good. It’s nice to see you boys settling down.” Dean follows his dad’s gaze to where Sam and Jess are standing on the other side of the yard with the rest of the family. His heart sinks when he recognizes the newcomer standing with his back to them as John adds, “Isn’t that Donnie talking to Cas? You sure that’s a good idea?”

It’s really not. While Dean was honest about their relationship—and it’s demise—he might have downplayed how much of an asshole Donnie can be. It’s a feature of Donnie’s that John knows full well. “I’m just gonna go—”

John raises one eyebrow and waves him away. “Yeah, you do that.”

Dean doesn’t sprint across the yard—Donnie isn’t dangerous, after all—but he does walk a little faster than he usually would. Cas is sitting next to Ellen, and he starts a little when Dean’s hand clasps his shoulder. He relaxes as soon as he looks up and sees Dean.

“Hey, babe,” Dean says, leaning down to brush his lips against Cas’ temple. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Cas’ weird cucumber shampoo. Feeling a little calmer, he straightens and turns to Donnie with a smile. “Hey man, long time. Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Donnie’s pale gray eye are intent, but he returns Dean’s smile with a broad grin of his own and slaps Dean on the shoulder. Dean sways a little under the impact; Donnie never lost the muscle he’d picked up during his years in Iraq. “I was just catching up with the family. I’m out of the loop since you stopped coming around the bar.”

Donnie’s voice is friendly, but the words are a challenge. Dean forces his smile to stay steady when he says, “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy. Things are picking up at the shop.”

A muscle in Donnie’s jaw ticks, so subtle Dean almost misses it, but his grin stays fixed. “Seems like there’s more than that taking up your time. Sad I had to drag my ass out here to meet your man since you never bothered to bring him by. That hurts, buddy. I thought we were friends.”

Dean’s eyes flick down to Cas. He’s been taking in the whole exchange, but his lips press together into a thin line and his eyes widen with an intensity Dean can’t read. “That’s not really—”

“I don’t drink,” Cas cuts in as if Dean wasn’t speaking, “but I never intended to keep Dean from spending time with his friends.” His eyes dart between Donnie and Dean, then lock on Dean’s face.

“You weren’t keeping me from anything, Cas,” Dean reassures him, grinding his teeth. “Donnie is just being an asshole, as us—”

“Donnie, man,” Sam jumps in, clapping his hand on Donnie’s shoulder. “Come see the spread we’ve got set up for tonight. Jess picked out a few rockets that have your name all over them. You’re the only one crazy enough to light them.”

Donnie doesn’t respond at first, just continues to stare Dean down, but when Dean takes a step closer, Donnie throws his hands up and laughs. “Sure, man. Let’s take a look. Did I ever tell you about that mortar in Fallujah?”

As Sam and Jess lead him away, listening to a story they’ve all heard at least a dozen times, Jess looks back and winks at Dean. He smiles and blows her a kiss.

“So that was Donnie,” Cas says.

“And that’s my cue,” Ellen announces. “Looks like Jo and Charlie need help bringing out the food.” She levers herself out of the lawn chair and squeezes Dean’s shoulder as she passes. “You boys take it easy on each other.”

Dean drops into her chair with a sigh. After a moment of silence, he says, “Yeah, that’s Donnie.”

Cas reaches out and takes his hand, winding their fingers together. He stares at them for a long time, then tips his head back to look up at Dean. “He doesn’t seem as clear about your split as you suggested.”

“Donnie isn’t real good about not getting what he wants. I guess he wasn’t done getting what he wanted from me.”

Cas nods. “But you were?”

Dean sits up straighter, pulling their clasped hands in to press a kiss to Cas’ knuckles. “Completely done. I know we haven’t had what most people would call a normal relationship, I’m in this a hundred percent. Donnie can kiss my ass if he thinks he’s gonna get in the way of that.”

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says, a tiny smile curving his lips. “Let’s go get some potato salad before Jo eats it all.”

Thankfully, Sam and Jess keep Donnie occupied while Dean and Cas fill their plates. When they make their way over to the tables, they take the last two seats with the guys from the garage. Since most of the guys have known Dean for years, they find lots of embarrassing stories to tell Cas about Dean’s younger, wilder days. Dean laughs along no matter how humiliating the tale. He even slips in a few about Garth and Benny that the other guys haven’t heard. By the time they’re done eating, Dean has almost forgotten about the earlier awkwardness.

“At least I didn’t join the football team just to get in some girl’s pants,” Dean says, chuckling at a barb thrown his way.

Benny smirks and gestures toward where his wife and daughters are sitting with Ellen and Bobby at the next table. “Hey, it worked, brother. You’re just mad Cassie Robinson wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“Cassie Robinson?” Cas asks, leaning back in his chair and giving Dean a warm smile.

Cassie Robinson was everything Dean thought he wanted in a girl when he was sixteen, with her warm brown skin, dark curls, and curvy body. “She was a senior cheerleader when we were juniors,” he says, cheeks burning. He throws his balled up napkin at Benny.

Benny catches the napkin and throws it back, laughing when it bounces off Dean’s forehead. “It was a real tragic tale of unrequited love. Dean-o was a real romantic back then. He left flowers in her locker and—”

“You better think real hard about what you’re about to say,” Dean warns, eyeing Benny. The end of that story isn’t one he needs to re-live. “I still got a couple stories I don’t think you want getting back to Andrea.”

“Okay, okay, you got it,” Benny relents with a chuckle.

“Mutually assured destruction,” Garth adds and both Dean and Benny grin.

“I don’t think you were only a romantic back then, Dean,” Cas says, leaning against Dean’s side. “You’re still quite romantic.”

“That’s something I’d like to see.” Dean looks up at the new voice to see Donnie standing behind them holding a football. “Never pegged Dean for the floofy hearts and rainbows type.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Dean says, his voice sharp. There’s a lot he doesn’t know about Donnie either. From their first hook up at the bar Donnie owned to their last just before Christmas, their relationship hasn’t revolved around sharing life stories. Although Donnie came to the Memorial Day picnic the last two years, their hanging out involved either drinking or getting naked with little else. They were about as different from Dean and Cas as you could get.

Donnie tosses the football into the air above Dean’s head, catching it again before it can hit him. “If you girls are done stuffing your holes, we’ve got a rematch to get to from last year.

There’s a lot of arguing and a few good-natured scuffles, but two full-sized teams are eventually sorted out. Along with their various friends from work, Dean ends up paired with Jess, Jo, and Benny, while Sam, Garth, and Donnie round out the other team. It’s not surprising that Cas bows out of playing, but Charlie does too. They’re content to sit with Ellen, Bobby, and John instead, and Andrea takes over entertaining the kids to keep them out of the way. They surround the field, spraying each other and the players with water guns.

Most people would think having the two women would put Dean’s team at a disadvantage, but Dean knows better. When Jess knocks the football out of Donnie’s hands before he can get off a pass on the first play, Donnie knows it too. “Should have figured that Winchester would surround himself with a couple bad asses,” he teases, setting up for the next snap. That one goes a little better, but they only gain fifteen feet before Jo intercepts a pass intended for one of John’s buddies from the fire station.

“Maybe you should have picked a couple bad asses of your own,” Dean crows, setting up to throw a long pass to Benny. Jess slips on the grass—wet from the super soakers—and fails to block Donnie as he skirts around her. Before Dean can launch the ball, Donnie’s solid bulk hits him, and they both collapse to the ground in a tangle of legs. “What the hell, man?” Dean snaps. “There’s no tackling.” He tries to roll to the side, but Donnie’s weight pins him.

Donnie leans in, his face inches from Dean’s, and winks. “I remember you liking it like this.”

A wave of heat flows through Dean, but it isn’t arousal. “Get the fuck off me.”

There’s a brief flash of anger in Donnie’s eyes before he chuckles and pushes himself off the ground. He offers Dean his hand, but Dean ignores it and stands up on his own.

Benny steps up to his side. “Want me to kick his ass?” he asks, his voice pitched low.

“No, I got it. He’s just being a douchebag.”

Benny looks at Donnie, his eyes narrowed. “You got it, brother, but you say the word and I got no problem taking out his knee. He’ll never see it coming.”

“Thanks, man.” Dean looks to where Cas is sitting with the others. Cas smiles and waves, but Charlie looks pissed. He forces himself to take a deep breath and relax.

The next play is uneventful, but on the one after that Donnie covers Dean and when he goes to block the ball one hand brushes against Dean’s crotch. Dean’s pulls back in shock, his eyes darting to Donnie’s face, but Donnie doesn’t act like he noticed

After that, Donnie touches Dean, grabs him, or grinds against him on almost every play. Dean doesn’t remember Donnie being this big of a dick, but he’s reaching the end of his tolerance for the bullshit. While Dean isn’t a small guy, Donnie has two inches and over forty pounds on him, so Benny’s offer is looking better and better.

On the next play, Dean lobs the ball toward Jess, and suddenly Donnie is there, pressed against Dean’s back. His hands grip Dean’s hips as he pulls him back. Though the touch is unwelcome, this time Dean doesn’t pull away. He leans into Donnie and uses his momentum to drive his elbow into Donnie’s stomach. Donnie lets go with a pained sound and stumbles backward, and Dean whirls on him.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing,” Dean barks, taking a step forward, “but you need to knock it off.”

Donnie huffs out a breath and straightens. “I was just messing around, man. Jesus, surprised your librarian can get his dick up there with the stick you have shoved up your ass.”

Hands curling into fists, Dean takes another step, but Sam jumps between them. He puts a hand on each of their chests and snaps, “What are you doing? There are kids here!” He rounds on Donnie and says in a lower voice, “You two need to work this out, or I’m going to ask you to leave, man. Take a walk and figure it out.”

There’s a tense moment when Donnie just glowers. Then he looks away. “Fine, yeah.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay.” When Dean looks over at Cas, he’s watching them with a somber expression. Charlie leans in, saying something into Cas’ ear, but she’s watching them too. Fuck. “Let’s get this over with.” He stalks toward the old barn, not turning to see if Donnie is following.

Donnie waits until Dean reaches the fence at the edge of the property before he speaks. “I was just fucking around. You used to have a sense of humor.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’re acting like we broke up or something. If that’s the case, you might’ve clued me in we were together in the first place.”

“We weren’t,” Donnie snaps, gripping the top railing of the fence like he’d rather be throwing a punch.

“Then what the hell? You said you understood. I’m trying to make something work with Cas here.”

Donnie stares out across the field, not meeting Dean’s eyes until Dean steps in front of him. He looks at Dean and rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. Maybe there was a part of me that thought it might turn into more. I wasn’t looking for anything when we first hooked up, but I got used to you being around.”

Dean freezes. He never—not even for a second—thought of Donnie as relationship material. Donnie was a good time, but there had been nothing else to it. Hell, Dean isn’t even sure they’re friends. “Being used to having someone around isn’t the same thing as being in a relationship. If you wanted more why didn’t you say something?”

There’s still indecision in Donnie’s expression when he shrugs. “I’m not even sure more is what I wanted. I’m not like you, Dean. Hell, all the shit that went down over there”—Donnie always talks about his time in the service like he can’t stand to refer to it by name—“I don’t know if a relationship is ever gonna be in the cards for me.”

Something in Dean’s chest aches a little before he remembers why they’re out here. “That doesn’t mean you get to fuck things up for me.”

Donnie’s expression hardens for a moment, but he shakes his head. “You’re right, man. You’re different around him, you know?”

“He makes me want to be a better person.” When Donnie’s eyes widen, Dean smiles. “Yeah, go ahead and laugh. I said it. We’re acting out a Nicholas Sparks novel now.”

“Man, you got it bad.” Donnie shakes his head as he gives into the laughter. Dean joins in, remembering what first attracted him to Donnie. Gripping Dean’s shoulder, Donnie’s expression goes serious again. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was being an asshole, and you have every right to ask me to leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave. I want you to back off. Maybe we can get around to being friends instead of just fuckbuddies.”

Donnie lets out a huff of air and squeezes Dean shoulder before letting go. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

They walk back to join the rest of the party. The football game broke up in their absence, and when Donnie breaks off to head over to Sam—maybe to apologize to him too—Dean walks toward Cas.

Ellen and Charlie are talking about the website Charlie offered to make for the garage, but she gives Dean a dirty look when he approaches. Cas’ forehead wrinkles the way it does when he’s in deep thought, but he smiles when Dean crouches down in front of him. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Sorry about that,” Dean murmurs, laying his hand over Cas’.

“It’s fine. You warned me.” Although his tone is even, it’s flat in a way that makes Dean’s heart clench. He meets Dean’s eyes but quickly looks away.

“Hey, man. Look at me.” When Cas doesn’t look back, Dean lays a hand on Cas’ cheek until he meets Dean’s eyes again. “I’m not interested in him, okay? I just got done telling him again that I’m with you. He’s not coming between us, not ever.”

“Okay, Dean.”

Dean strokes his thumb over the swell of Cas’ cheek then leans in to brush a soft kiss against the corner of his lips. “Do you want to go home?” He looks over to see John watching them, and his dad gives him a slight nod. “Dad will understand if you want to get out of here.”

“I’m fine. We don’t need to leave. I want to see the fireworks your father has been bragging about all afternoon.”

Cas’ words aren’t convincing, but Dean lets it go. To make up for it, he doesn’t leave Cas’ side the rest of the day. They wander from group to group, eating and laughing and talking. Night falls, and they light the wood piled in the big fire pit in the middle of the clearing. Parents round up the children, and they set off the massive fireworks display. No matter how big it gets, they always seem to top it every year.

When Dean joins Cas back at the fire, he’s smiling with the first genuine enjoyment Dean has seen all afternoon. “They were beautiful, Dean.”

Dean settles beside him on the massive log and pulls him in for a kiss. “They weren’t too shabby, I guess,” he says with a grin. Cas lets his weight rest against Dean’s side, his head tipping to lay on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean winds his arm around Cas’ waist. The night air has a chill to it, but the raging fire in front of them chases it away. An air of contentment settles over Dean. He’s brought people to the picnic before—people like Donnie—but never someone who means as much to him as Cas. It’s a nice feeling.

The shifting light from the flames dances over the small groups of people clustered around the fire. Dean closes his eyes, enjoying the heat on his face and the weight of Cas pressed against him. He’s drowsy, the long day catching up to him, and he’s almost falling asleep when the sound of someone clearing their throat startles him awake. Cas shifts upright, and Dean opens his eyes to see Jo sitting next to him, her guitar cradled in her lap.

“You should play for us,” she says, pushing the guitar toward him.

Dean groans. “Why me? You can play, too.”

“I didn’t know you played the guitar,” Cas says. He runs his fingers across the body of the instrument, and Jo grins in triumph.

“I don’t play as well as you do and your boyfriend wants to hear you play, Dean. You can’t disappoint your fans.”

“You’re a brat,” Dean shoots back, but he’s laughing when he takes the guitar. He launches right into _Free Bird_ , and Jo falls in with the harmony as soon as he starts singing. One song flows into another, and Cas murmurs he’s going to get a drink when Jess wanders over to join them.

Surrounded by his family and friends shouting out requests, Dean loses track of time. He gets lost in the music, only looking around at the smiling faces in the firelight every now and then. His heart skips a beat when he sees Cas standing on the other side of the fire talking to Donnie, but neither of them looks upset. If anything, Donnie seems puzzled by whatever Cas is saying. Cas glances over at Dean and smiles when he sees Dean watching them, and Dean’s chest loosens. He finishes another three songs before begging off with the excuse that his throat is parched and his fingers are killing him from playing for so long. Several people boo, but Jo picks up the slack by taking over when Dean hands her the guitar.

Dean finds Sam standing by the coolers and gratefully accepts the bottle of water Sam holds out. Cas and Donnie have disappeared. “You seen Donnie or Cas?”

“Cas was over talking to Andrea and Benny the last I saw.” Sam motions toward the porch with his bottle. “Donnie headed out, though. He said he needed to get going because he’s got a big delivery coming in for the bar early tomorrow morning. You guys seem like you worked out your stuff.”

Taking another long swallow, Dean looks up at his brother. He and Sam might not always see eye-to-eye, but he knows Sam always has his back. “Yeah. We figured it out. Just some crossed wires.”

Sam hums. “He was never your type.”

Dean huffs, then glances back at Sam with a smirk. “Maybe not, but, man, that thing he does with his tongue—”

“Ew, gross, Dean, enough. Go find Cas and forget I said anything.” Sam’s mouth screws up like he swallowed something foul.

“You have no idea, Sammy, no idea at all.” Dean pats Sam on the shoulder and chuckles as he walks away.

Dean finds Cas on the porch with Benny’s youngest daughter curled up on his lap, Cas’ hand petting her thick black hair. Dean slips up behind him and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Hey, babe. You about ready to call it a night?”

Cas starts to shake his head, but a yawn overtakes him, and he smiles instead. “It looks like it.” Benny lifts Amelia off his lap, and Dean offers Cas his hand.

“Let’s say goodbye to dad and get out of here.” They make their way to the other side of the yard, exchanging goodbyes as they go. When they make it back to the car, Dean collapses into the driver’s seat with relief. “We’ll grab the chairs and the cooler later. I’m too beat to wrangle them tonight,” he says, starting the car and pulling down the long driveway.

The sky is dark, stars hidden behind a low cloud cover, but the Impala’s headlights cut through the gloom as they drive back to town. Cas is quiet, and the car hums with the soft sounds of classic rock. They’ve only gone a few miles when Cas reaches out and turns off the radio.

“Dean,” he breathes, and Dean looks over at him. “You should have sex with Donnie.”

The wheel jerks so hard Dean almost runs off the road. Once he straightens the big car again, he gasps, “What? What are you talking about? I’m not having sex with Donnie! I told you, it’s over.”

“You’re attracted to him, and he’s attracted to you. You’ve enjoyed having sex with him in the past,” Cas says as if he’s describing the weather and not destroying Dean’s whole world. He stares out the windshield ahead, not a flicker of eye movement toward Dean.

Dean scrambles to wrap his head around what he’s hearing. “If this is about what happened today, Cas, I’m sorry. He knows he was out of line and it won’t happen again. Come on, man. I would never do anything with him behind your back.” He takes one hand off the wheel and presses it to his chest as if he can slow his racing heart that way.

Cas just shrugs. “I like what we do together, and I don’t want to stop, but Donnie said it wouldn’t bother him.”

“Wait, what?” Dean’s head is pounding, and Cas flinches when he shouts.

“I asked Donnie, and he confirmed that he would like to continue having sex with you. He was concerned that it would affect our relationship, but I assured him it wouldn’t.”

Dean gapes for a second before he finds his voice. “Why would you do that? If you don’t want to be with me, just tell me.” His voice breaks, but he takes a calming breath while he navigates the small streets. The last thing he needs right now is for them to get into an accident.

“I want to be with you.” Cas takes a few quick, shallow breaths and Dean worries he will hyperventilate. His breathing calms again before he says, “I want you to be happy, Dean. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I am happy. Am I doing something that makes you think I’m not happy?” Dean guides the car up the driveway and puts it in park. He turns off the engine before dropping the keys on the seat between them and turns toward Cas. In the dim light, he can see the unshed tears in Cas’ eyes. He reaches out and takes Cas’ hand, interlocking their fingers. “Talk to me, Cas. If I’m doing something wrong, you have to tell me, or I can’t fix it.”

Cas takes a shaky breath, and when he answers his voice is rough. “I know I’m not satisfying you. I like kissing you, but I know you want to have sex. After we kiss, you go to the bathroom and touch yourself.”

“Of course I want to have sex. You turn me on,” Dean says, choosing his words carefully. “But the best part of sex is doing it with someone you care about. I don’t feel about Donnie the way I feel about you. I only want to have sex with you.”

A few fat teardrops fall onto Cas’ cheeks, and he reaches up to brush them away. “I can’t do that, Dean. I want you to be happy because if you’re not happy, you’ll leave me. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” His voice breaks and when the tears fall again, he doesn’t wipe them away. “I can’t have sex with you, and I’d rather you get what you need with Donnie than risk you leaving me.”

Dean’s heart breaks to see Cas so upset. He hasn’t seen Cas cry since Christmas, and the sight is just as painful as it was then. “Come on, babe, don’t cry. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Dean reaches one hand up to cup Cas’ cheek, swiping his thumb through the wet streaks. “I don’t understand. Why can’t you have sex? Is there something wrong?”

Cas jerks back like Dean slapped him, his eyes going hard and cold. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he barks, yanking his hand out of Dean’s grasp and batting Dean’s hand away from his face. “I’m not broken. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Dean reaches for him, stunned by the outburst, but Cas shoves the door open and jumps out. He’s across both driveways and up his porch steps before Dean even processes what happened. He pushes his door open and runs after him, but the house door slams before he gets there, and he hears the lock turning.

“Come on, Cas, open the door,” Dean calls, pounding the side of his fist against the door. “Open the damn door, Cas. We need to talk about this.”

He pounds for a few more minutes, cursing that he and Cas never exchanged keys. When it’s clear that Cas isn’t going to answer, he slumps against the door in frustration. “Dammit, Cas. This isn’t done. We’re gonna talk about this tomorrow,” he says, laying his palm against the door one more time.

Dean walks back across the lawn to his house, turning back every few feet to see if the door opened, but there’s no movement from inside Cas’ house. He lets himself in and drags himself through his night time routine. When he falls into his bed alone, it feels like the end of something that barely got started.


	3. Part One - Dean

Warmth surrounds Dean, soft sunlight filtering through the curtains, but he finds empty sheets when he reaches for Cas. His breath catches with a sharp, ugly gasp. He drags himself out of bed and pulls his shoes on without bothering to change out of his pajamas. The grass is damp when he crosses over to Cas’ house, but there’s silence even after he knocks a few times.

“Come on, Cas. We need to talk. Open the door,” he calls, not embarrassed at all by the desperation in his voice. He stops, listening for any movement inside, then pounds a few more times. Still no response. He staggers back down the porch stairs and over to Cas’ garage. Through the little windows, he can see the empty space where Cas’ car would normally be at this time of day.

Trying to ignore the cold dread in his chest, he lets himself back in his front door. He makes a pot of coffee and gets ready for work. His mind is still going over everything—analyzing every word and reviewing every moment of the picnic—when he stumbles into Singer Auto.

“There’s an Altima in bay two,” Bobby calls as he’s punching the time clock.

Dean grunts a response, but Bobby doesn't look up from the mess of papers in front of him. A few of the other guys call greetings as Dean heads to his bay, but he ignores them.

The paperwork on the first car says it needs the tires rotated and balanced. Although he’s been fixing cars since he was fifteen, he feels sluggish and distracted. Nothing goes right. He drops the lug nuts three times, trips over the impact gun hose, and lets a tire roll into the bay across from him. Benny laughs when it almost knocks the guy working there on his ass, but Bobby isn't amused.

Despite all that, he finishes the car with no major catastrophes. The next two are no smoother. It’s like his first day on the job all over again. No matter what he does, he can’t stop thinking about Cas and what he said. The third car pulls out thirty minutes later than promised and with Dean missing most of the skin on his knuckles. “Bay two open. I’m gonna go take a piss,” he shouts, slamming into the bathroom before anyone can respond.

Dean stops at the sink and splashes cold water on his face. He stares at his reflection in the mirror for a moment, but he looks no different from usual. There are no outward signs he’s crumbling apart. Taking a shaky breath, he pulls himself together and heads back out.

There’s a green Impreza in his bay, and the work order says the car needs new brakes and an oil change. “See if you can do this one any quicker,” Bobby grouses as he passes through the garage.

He’s done a thousand of these jobs before and mindless work is exactly what he needs. Raising the car on the lift, he changes the brakes pads and drains the oil. Once everything is empty, he reinstalls the plug and a new filter and refills the oil. It’s the simplest service they do, and he lets his mind wander back to Cas while he works.

Dean still isn’t sure what Cas meant. He always had a good time with Donnie, but the thought of continuing to mess around once he got together with Cas never crossed his mind. It makes him a little sick to think about it. Cas has weird hangups about sex, but Dean figured it would happen in its own time, just like everything else in their relationship. That Cas might never want sex hadn’t occurred to him.

Still playing Cas’ words on a loop in his head, Dean tightens the last bolts and lowers the lift. Once the car is back on the ground, he calls Garth over to pump the brakes while he bleeds them. Garth climbs into the driver's seat and presses his foot on the pedal. He pumps a few times, and Dean gets ready to open the bleeder valve to let the air out of the lines. All at once, a sharp shout draws his attention, and Dean looks down at the wheel.

Instead of pressurizing the lines, every time Garth presses on the pedal, it sends fluid shooting across the bay. Dean jerks forward, following the spray with his eyes, and sees that the first two streams caught Benny right in the chest. He shouts for Garth to stop and scrambles to close the valve, almost slipping on the puddle of brake fluid under the car. It has been dripping from the open valve since he refilled the reservoir.

“First day on the job, chief?” Benny drawls, grabbing a rag to dab at the mess on his shirt. The other guys in the garage snicker, and a few yell insults.

Before Dean can snap back, Bobby barks his name followed by, “Get your rear-end in here.”

“I’ll finish bleeding them,” Benny offers, holding out his hand.

With a sick feeling, Dean hands Benny the wrench and turns toward Bobby’s office. When he steps inside, Bobby motions for him to close the door. “It was just a stupid mistake,” Dean says before Bobby can start.

“A stupid rookie mistake, boy, and you ain’t been a rookie for over ten years. I got eyes in my head. Something's bothering you. So spill it.”

Dean crosses his arms and glowers. Even if he wanted to talk to Bobby about his problems with Cas, he knows Bobby wouldn’t want to know anything about it. “Just tired from the picnic. We were up late.”

Bobby narrows his eyes. “You sure? Nothing’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, Bobby. I swear.” He sighs and looks through the window. “Look, can I get back out there? We’re gonna get behind, and the guys will have my ass.”

Bobby’s lips twitch like he wants to refuse, but he huffs out a breath. “Fine. Get out. But whatever’s going on, you gotta pull your shit together.”

“I will. I promise.”

No one says anything when Dean returns to his bay. An SUV is in the Impreza's place, and Dean sighs as he reads the work order. It's going to be a long day.

Miraculously, he finishes the SUV and the cars that come after it with no other mishaps. He’s still edgy, and the work takes longer than usual. When they close down the shop for the day, Dean pretends he doesn’t notice Bobby watching him walk to the car. He’s got somewhere to be.

Dean pulls the Impala into the garage and goes straight over to Cas’ house. Through the garage windows, he can see that Cas’ car is there, but when he knocks, there’s no answer. Dean pulls out his phone and dials Cas’ number. It goes to voicemail, but he can hear it ringing inside the house. Gritting his teeth, Dean hangs up and sends a text instead. _Just tell me you’re okay._

It takes several minutes, but Dean lets out a shaky breath of relief when the reply comes. _I’m okay. I need to think. Please._ It’s not the answer Dean wanted, but Cas is stubborn. Even though he wants to bust down the door and force Cas to talk to him, Dean lays his palm on the smooth wood and sends another message. _I’m here when you’re ready._ He tries not to let the walk back to his house feel like defeat.

There are still dishes in the sink from making the potato salad for the picnic, but Dean can’t find the energy to rinse them and load the dishwasher. He heats leftover meatloaf and slumps in front of the television, mindlessly thumbing through his Netflix queue. It’s pathetic how much Cas has changed his life. Just a few months ago, dinner and TV alone was normal, but now the silence in the house is stifling. Even when Cas is only sitting next to him, the sound of his breathing and the warm, heavy weight of him pressed to Dean’s side are enough. Dean shivers with a sudden chill.

He’s dumping his half-eaten meatloaf into the garbage when his phone rings. He snatches it up, praying it’s Cas, but the screen shows Sam’s name. Dean takes a deep breath, curls his hand into a fist on the counter, and answers. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

“Are you okay?”

No preamble means Sam has already got himself wound up over whatever manpain he imagines Dean is suffering. “I guess Bobby called you.”

“Did something happen? Are you and Cas fighting?”

Dean rinses his plate and drops it in the dishwasher before answering. “Why do you assume just because I had a bad day it’s about Cas?”

There is silence for a long moment before Sam clears his throat. “Because not much besides Cas bothers you.”

Dean bites his bottom lip. “He’s got himself worked up about something. You know how he gets. He’s a weird dude. We’ll be fine.” He grabs the pot out of the sink and shoves it into the dishwasher with enough force to rattle the rack.

“Is this about what happened with Donnie yesterday? He seemed more concerned about you being pissed than upset at Donnie.”

Dean cradles the phone between his cheek and shoulder and takes a scrub brush to the sauce dried on a plate. Cas usually loads the dishwasher, but Dean had convinced him to leave the picnic dishes in the sink. Now the gunk won't come loose. “I don’t know, Sam. Something suddenly crawled up his ass,” Dean barks, throwing the plate back into the sink with a crash and stalking into the living room. “I warned him about Donnie. He seemed fine about it, and then he freaked out on the way home.”

“Freaked out because he thinks there’s still something going on?”

There’s no good way to explain what Cas said. Dean still can’t wrap his brain around it himself. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but who the hell knows what goes through Cas’ head sometimes. He don’t march to the same drummer as the rest of us.” Dean knows Cas is socially awkward. He knows Cas isn’t always good at expressing himself and that he doesn’t always react to social situations the way most people would. Dean knows, and it's one of the reasons he loves Cas. Right now, though, it’s fucking annoying.

“Maybe you should—”

“Listen, Sammy, I know you’re trying to help but you gotta let me handle this, okay? Whatever floofy New Age I-statements shit you and Jess practice won't work for me and Cas. We’ll figure it out, just like we always do. He’ll put together whatever is going on in that big brain of his and then he’ll tell me. Much as it sucks, me pushing is just gonna piss him off.”

Sam is quiet for a second, then he chuckles. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “That was the most mature thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Fuck you, man.”

Another laugh, louder this time. “I’m serious, Dean. You know Cas better than anyone. Just don’t let it go on too long. Radio silence goes to your head.”

Dean wants to argue with that, but he knows Sam is right. If tonight was enough to get to him, he’ll be imagining all kinds of horrible shit if Cas stretches this out for a couple days. “I know. If he doesn’t crack in the next day or two, I’ll come up with plan B.”

“You should talk to Donnie. I saw them talking right before Donnie split. It didn’t look like they were fighting, but Donnie seemed rattled. He might've said something that set Cas off.”

Dean stops reaching for the remote and flops back on the couch. Or maybe the other way around; in all the confusion and panic over Cas’ announcement, he forgot what Cas said about talking to Donnie. “That’s not a bad idea, man. Shit. I’m gonna go see if he knows anything.”

“Good luck, Dean. We all like Cas and you’ve been different—happier—since you met him. We’re rooting for you guys.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence. Dean has always avoided talking about feelings as much as possible, but Cas has been changing that. They can only afford room for one emotionally stupid person in this relationship. “Thanks, Sammy.” Dean clears his throat before he continues, “That's… I… yeah, I’m gonna go see what Donnie knows.”

As soon as they hang up—with no other awkward declarations—Dean sends Donnie a message. The answer comes before Dean has on his first boot. _Off tonight but I can meet you at the bar._ _This about your guy?_

He almost denies it, but if it means figuring out what the hell is going on with Cas, Dean will admit to anything. _Yeah. See you in 20._

Donnie is already there when Dean arrives. He spots Dean and picks up two bottles, inclining his head toward a secluded booth at the back of the room. “Figured you didn’t want an audience for this,” he says as Dean slides in opposite him. He sets one bottle in front of Dean.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes. His hand shakes a little when he reaches for the beer. “That bad?”

“You tell me.”

Dean takes a few swallows to gather his thoughts and sets the bottle down with a loud clunk. “This is fucking awkward.”

The answering laugh is humorless. “No kidding.”

“Did you mean it?” Dean blurts out in a rush.

Donnie cocks one eyebrow. “The part where I told him I would keep fucking you? Or the part where I said I wouldn’t care if you were with him while we did it?”

“Jesus Christ.” Dean snatches his beer and drains half of it. “That’s fucked up.”

“More fucked up than your boyfriend asking me if I’d be willing?”

That startles a laugh out of Dean. “Point.” There’s silence while Dean fiddles with the loose label on his bottle. When he looks up, Donnie is watching him. “You never answered the question.”

“Did I mean it? Hell yeah. It’s no secret I like fucking you, or that I’m not the settling down type. So yeah, I would.” He holds Dean’s gaze, his gray eyes stormier than usual. “Here’s the thing, though. It's also no secret you’re not that kind of guy. You’re not gonna fuck around while you’re with him, because deep down, you and me? We’re different. That makes the whole thing a moot point. We might not be anything else, but I’d like to think we’re sorta friends. I wouldn’t fuck a friend over even if it was what he thought he wanted.”

Dean lets his head fall back against the booth with a thud and closes his eyes. “I’m just not built that way,” he confirms. “You’re right. We had good times together, but feeling like I do about Cas, that’s behind us.” Dean cracks one eye to look at Donnie. When he only nods, Dean adds, “This is, fuck, it’s just fucking confusing. He’s not interested in sex, like, not at all. We get close, and he shuts down like I flicked a switch. I’m not sure what to do with that.” As soon as the words are out, Dean feels better. It still sucks, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to about it.

“Whether he’s into screwing you or not, he’s _into you_. That’s gotta count for something. You love him?”

The impulse to deny is strong, but Dean presses his lips into a tight, thin line and nods. “I think so. I mean, what the hell do I know about love?”

Donnie scoffs. “More than I do.” He stares over Dean’s left shoulder for a moment, then shakes his head. “Listen, man. You care about him and, no matter how weird his way of showing it, he cares about you. He wants you to be happy; that much was obvious. No sex would be a deal breaker for me, but you gotta put that shit on the table with him and hash it out.”

“I would, but he won’t talk to me.”

Donnie leans back against the booth and points his bottle at Dean with a smirk. “When have you ever let that stop you?”


	4. Part One - Dean

Either Dean has grown up a little or Cas has been a good influence on him because there was no bender. He and Donnie had a few more beers, but he barely felt buzzed when he headed home. They talked—about their families and their childhoods and even a little about Donnie’s time in the service—the way they never have. It’s weird to think after two years of hooking up, they might become friends now that sex is off the table. Dean isn’t sure what that says about him.

The next day, Dean forces himself to not even glance at Cas’ place as he leaves for work. He goes straight into Bobby’s office and asks if he can leave early. Donnie is right; they need to have this out before it turns into something they can’t fix. Cas can try to avoid him, but Dean knows how to put himself where Cas can’t ignore him anymore.

Bobby takes one look at him and rolls his eyes. “Damn kids,” he grouses, but his expression is fond when he points at the door and says, “Fix it.”

“I’m trying to, Bobby,” Dean shoots back. Grateful his family has his back, he closes the door behind him and goes straight to his bay. Although Bobby hadn’t mentioned making up the time he’ll miss, Dean works through lunch and one of his breaks. It’s barely three when he clocks out, but he already finished four more cars than yesterday.

Cas isn’t home when Dean gets there. His entire plan hinges on being ready when Cas gets back, so he wastes no time grabbing a bottle of water and a book. He’s only two chapters from the end when Cas pulls up the driveway.

The little blue car stops a few feet shy of Dean’s knees, where he’s propped against Cas’ garage door. Dean can’t see Cas’ expression through the glare on the windshield, but his voice is rough and a little strained when he puts down the window and says, “Move out of the way, Dean.”

Dean shoves himself to his feet and take a few steps to the side, but as soon as the garage door goes up, he ducks inside. He doesn’t wait for Cas to pull in, just lets himself into the house like he’s done dozens of times before and waits on the couch. It’s a long time between when the garage door goes back down and when Cas comes in. There are dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders droop when he drops his bag and keys on the counter. He takes two bottles of water out of the fridge and offers Dean one before he sits down on the recliner across the room from Dean.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me. I don’t know what’s going on, but you mean too much to let things end this way,” Dean says, staring Cas down.

Cas holds his gaze for a few seconds, then looks down, twisting his hands in his lap. “I told you I wasn’t good at this,” he whispers, his voice so low Dean almost misses the words.

“You don’t have to be good at it,” Dean reminds him. “You have to want to try. Start wherever you want, but you gotta let me in, man. You gotta tell me what’s going on, because I’m seriously lost here.”

It takes several long, silent minutes before Cas looks up and meets Dean’s eyes. “I don’t want to lose you,” he says, his voice cracking and his expression devastated, “but I don’t know how to start.”

“Do you want me to start?”

Cas squeezes the water bottle, the crackle of the plastic loud in the silence. He nods.

Dean has been thinking about what he will say all day. He planned out the words, the ones that will make Cas understand how much he means to Dean. He practiced them in the car and rehearsed them for the hours he sat in the driveway. Now face to face with Cas, though, he throws them all out and says, “I like sex. A lot.” Cas’ eyes shoot wide. Dean doesn’t understand why that’s so scary. “I won’t lie and say I don’t want to have sex with you, because I do. I think about it all the time. Not just when we’re making out, but when I’m holding you at night. I think about touching you. Sometimes I drive myself crazy with how much I want you.”

“Dean.” Cas winces and his voice cracks.

“It doesn’t matter how much I like sex, though,” Dean rushes to continue, “because I like you more. I just need to understand what’s going on here.” Dean wants to keep going—to fill the silence with words—but he stops there.

Cas’ mouth screws up and he squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, tears glisten in the corners. His lower lip trembles when he says, “I’m asexual, Dean.”

Dean isn’t sure he heard Cas right. “Asexual?” he echoes. Of everything he thought Cas would say, he hadn’t expected that. “So you don’t like sex at all? Never?” Dean didn’t mean to snap, but Cas cringes, folding in on himself. Dean takes a deep breath and tries to soften his expression before he adds, “I’m not upset or angry at you, Cas. I just don’t understand. I need you to explain.”

Cas stares down at his hands, and his voice is a low mumble when he answers. “I enjoy the physical intimacy involved with sex, but I’m not aroused by it.”

Dean leans forward, brow furrowing as he tries to wrap his head around that. “You don’t get off? Ever?” There’s rarely a day Dean doesn’t rub one out at least once, and two or three times isn’t uncommon. Never? He can’t even imagine.

“I masturbate, but not often. It feels good, I guess.” He shrugs. “I don’t feel the urge to do it as often as…” He blushes when he meets Dean’s eyes.

“As I do.”

Cas nods. “You get hard when we kiss, but I didn’t know how to explain why I don’t. I didn’t want you to be angry at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you for that? You’re not doing anything wrong.”

A single tear slips from the corner of Cas’ eye and slides down his cheek. Dean’s chest aches with the urge to reach out and brush it away. “My first boyfriend didn’t think so. He said it proved that I didn’t love him, that if I really loved him my body would show it. He would make me—” He shakes his head as if he can push the memory away. “I tried. I did everything he wanted, but it just wouldn’t work, not matter what he did. He would get angry and scream at me.”

The white hot anger that erupts in Dean’s chest is almost painful, followed by a cold, sick ball of disgust that settles in his stomach. Unable to stay on the other side of the room any longer, Dean slides off the couch and crouches in front of Cas, gripping Cas’ hands in his. “That’s fucking bullshit, Cas,” he says, pulling their clasped hands up to press his lips to Cas’ knuckles. “That dickhead didn’t know the first thing about love.” The thought of this faceless, nameless asshole forcing sweet, gentle Cas to do things he didn’t want to do almost makes Dean retch.

“He said I was broken and that no one would ever want to be with me.” His voice is small, barely a whisper. More tears fall, the tracks shiny in the lamp light.

Dean lets go of Cas’ hands to grasp his cheeks. He cradles Cas’ face between his palms, stubble prickly against his skin, and brushes the tears away with his thumbs. Throat burning as he tries to hold back the tears stinging his own eyes, he leans in and presses his forehead to Cas’. Their eyes meet and hold. “He was full of shit. You are not broken; you’re perfect just the way you are. I want to be with you.” Huge words strangle him, threaten to come out and engulf them. It’s too soon, too much, too fast, but he takes a deep breath and says them anyway. “I love you.”

“Dean,” Cas gasps, his eyes widening. As close as they are, Dean can see himself reflected in the dilating pupils. “I love you, too. I love you so much.”

A gush of tears spill over and Dean kisses them away. He stays like that, lips lingering on the warm, fragile skin just below Cas’ eyes, the salt from his tears burning Dean’s lips. His body trembles and Dean slides his hands around to the back of Cas’ head, pulling him in so he can bury his face in Dean’s neck. Dean holds him, murmuring over and over a litany of “I love you. I love you so fucking much. We’re okay. I love you, Cas.”

Cas’ face is red and blotchy—his eyes swollen and bloodshot—when he pulls away. Dean leans to pull a tissue from the box on the side table and blots Cas’ face with it, until Cas takes it and blows his nose. Dean uncaps the bottle of water Cas had dropped onto the seat next to him and lifts it to Cas’ lips. When Cas offers him a watery smile, Dean returns it. “I love you,” he says, leaning in to murmur it against Cas’ lips.

“I love you, too.” Cas returns the kiss, increasing the pressure until Dean part his lips, letting Cas lick inside. The slick, smooth slide of Cas’ tongue against his is intoxicating, and they’re both breathing heavy when they pull apart.

“Come on,” Dean says, pushing himself to his feet. He pulls Cas up from the chair and leads him to the couch. “I’m getting too old for that, but you’re too far away over there.” Dean settles on the couch—back against the armrest and one leg propped up in front of him—and pulls Cas down so his back presses against Dean’s chest. He links his fingers through Cas’ and curls his other arm around Cas’ waist, fingers spread like an anchor against Cas’ belly. “We’ll be okay, Cas,” Dean says, his breath ruffling Cas’ hair, “but you gotta tell me what’s been going through your head with Donnie.”

Cas’ fingers tighten against his and Dean squeezes back. “I was afraid,” Cas says, turning his head so his cheek rests against Dean’s chest. “You must have enjoyed having sex with Donnie if you continued to do it for so long, but you aren’t emotionally attached to him. I didn’t want to lose you, so I thought if you went back to sleeping with him you would be satisfied but he wouldn’t take you away from me.”

“That’s—Cas, it doesn’t work like that. You realize that, right? You can’t just trade my body to him to fix something I didn’t even know was messed up. That’s not how relationships work.”

Dean’s shirt is wet where Cas nuzzles his face against it. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You talk to me. That’s what you do. That’s how relationships work. We talk about it and you tell me what you’re thinking and we work it out together. For fucks sake, Cas, I’m no better than that asshole. I was pushing you to do things you didn’t want to do.” A wave of shame curls through him, turning his stomach. “You never have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m not going anywhere. You’re more important than sex.”

Cas shifts until he can look up at Dean. “You never forced me to do anything. I liked what we’ve done, the kissing and touching, but I didn’t want you to realize that I wasn’t getting aroused. We can do more; I could touch you.” His voice is soft, hesitant.

Guilt washes through Dean. He brushes his fingertips across Cas’ cheek, tracing the curve of the bone under his skin. “We can’t do something just because I want it. That’s not right. As long as I have you in my life, the rest isn’t important. I can take care of it myself, like I have been. You don’t have to worry I’m gonna make you do something.”

“You’re not making me, Dean. I want to.”

Dean shakes his head. “You just said you don’t like it. If you don’t like it, we won’t do it. That’s the end of it.” He won’t be anything like the guy who hurt Cas. Cas deserves better than someone who only thinks with his dick. No matter how hard it will be, he’ll figure out how to do without.

“You’re not listening,” Cas says, his voice sharp. He moves Dean’s hand away from his stomach and starts to sit up, but Dean pulls him back.

“Can’t we just sleep tonight? I want to hold you.”

Cas tenses, shifting like he’ll pull away again, but he doesn’t. He relaxes back against Dean with a long, slow exhalation. “We can talk later,” he says, tucking himself closer into Dean’s chest.

Contentment washes over Dean. It’s not perfect, and it will be difficult, but as long as Cas is in his arms, the rest will work itself out.


	5. Part Two - Cas

Cas switches off the lights in his office with a groan and hefts his bag onto his shoulder. Upper management assigned his team a massive project publishing a series of rare 13th-century manuscripts; it’s an incredible honor, and everyone has been working overtime. Cas loves detail-oriented work, but inconsistencies in several of the translations have put them weeks behind schedule. This is his third day in a row leaving after seven o’clock. He already texted Dean to let him know, and he still has the forty-minute drive ahead of him.

Swallowing a grumbling sigh, Cas pinches the bridge of his nose and punches the button for the elevator. Since Dean forced his hand about what was bothering him things have mostly gone back to normal between them. They text throughout the day and eat dinner together every night. Most evenings, they curl up on the couch watching television, or Dean plays his video games while Cas reads. Last Saturday, they hiked at the reservoir and had lunch with Sam and Charlie on the way back. Everything is so achingly domestic, and exactly what Cas has always wanted.

Only one thing hasn’t gone back to normal, and Cas doesn't know how to fix it. Dean still hugs him, and they still sleep curled together at night, but there are no more caresses. He doesn’t trail his hands down Cas’ sides or stroke his back while they kiss lazily on the couch anymore. In fact, Dean has stopped the earth-shattering kisses that steal Cas’ breath entirely.

They kiss goodbye in the morning, hello when they see each other after work, and before bed at night, but they’re chaste, almost friendly kisses. Just a soft, warm press of Dean’s lips to his before Dean pulls away. Cas has tried to lean into the kisses, opening his mouth and even moaning, but Dean just licks his lips and walks away. There is always something amazing he has to show Cas, or he remembers a funny story about work. Every single time. It’s infuriating.

His body might not crave sexual release the way Dean’s does, but he is still starving for Dean’s touch. Dean probably thinks he’s clever, but Cas knows he masturbates in the morning, and sometimes at night before bed. He stands outside the bathroom door and imagines what it would be like to watch Dean stroke himself, to replace Dean’s hand with his own. He’s almost frantic with the desire to give that to Dean if only he could figure out how to convince Dean to let him try.

Every time Cas tries to bring up the subject of sex again, Dean changes the topic with a flash of discomfort in his eyes. Dean said talk to him, but he won’t let Cas get two words out. It’s almost worse than before Dean knew. Cas doesn’t know what to do.

When the elevator doors slide open, Balthazar is leaning against the back wall. He looks as tired as Cas feels. “You look like shit, Cassie,” he says, his British accent more pronounced with his fatigue.

Cas rolls his eyes and steps inside. The button for the ground floor is already lit.

“I’ll be glad to have the proofs done,” Balthazar continues. “The lovely ladies over at Swagger have been lonely this week.”

“That must be horrible for everyone.” The extra work means Cas hasn’t heard Balthazar’s tales about his escapades with the women at the gentleman’s club down the street in over a week. There are always silver linings.

The elevator creeps down from the fifteenth floor, and Cas lets his mind wander as he watches the numbers flash in red above the doors. They’re almost on the ground floor when something occurs to him. He turns to Balthazar and clears his throat. “You’re very successful in your amorous pursuits.”

Balthazar’s eyebrows shoot up, but his blue eyes twinkle. “Generally, yes.”

“What if—” Cas stops, snapping his jaw closed. This is exceedingly unprofessional.

“What if what? Is Winchester not satisfying you in the bedroom? Are you looking for a little excitement?” Balthazar lets his eyes roam Cas’ body, lingering before bringing them back up to catch Cas’ eye. “I prefer more breasts in my ménage à trois, but you could convince me.”

Cas’ cheeks burn, and he steps back away from Balthazar in shock, fighting the urge to cover himself with his hands. “That’s not—for crying out loud. This is why I avoid people.”

Balthazar chuckles. “You really are adorable, Castiel. I had no idea you were so adventurous. You’re quite good at hiding it behind the drab clothing and utter lack of social grace.” He cocks one eyebrow.

The elevator dings as it reaches the bottom floor and the doors swoosh open, cutting off Cas’ denial. He rushes out, wanting to be anywhere but within speaking distance of Balthazar. He takes three steps before Balthazar grabs his arm, pulling him back around. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was only joking. You wanted to ask for advice, yes? Go ahead. Ask your confidante Zar your question.”

“I hardly think you are the right person to ask,” Cas snaps, wrenching his arm out of Balthazar’s grip. “And you sound ridiculous when you refer to yourself in the third person.”

Balthazar leans back against the reception desk behind him—thankfully empty at this time of night—and spreads his arms. “You have many other friends you can ask questions of a personal and risqué nature?”

Cas deflates. “Unfortunately, no, I do not. Trust me, if I did, you would not be my first choice.”

“Admit it, Cassie. I’ve grown on you. We’re becoming almost companionable.”

“Are you going to let me ask my question or not?” Cas wishes he could rewind ten minutes and take the stairs.

“By all means.” Balthazar makes a show of zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

Cas looks down at the floor, gathering courage. “What if you know someone wants to pursue sexual activity, but they hesitate? How would you convince them?”

“They are holding off because they are unsure of the reception?”

Cas can’t bring himself to look at Balthazar, so he looks out the windows at the empty street in front of the building and nods. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Then you need to seduce him.”

“That’s–I,” Cas stammers, eyes darting up to look at Balthazar. Rather than the mocking expression he was expecting, the other man looks sincere. “I’ve never seduced anyone.”

“If you’re sure he’s interested—and trust me, Winchester is interested—you need to show him you’re ready. Make the first move. Entice him. Romance may be an art form, but in matters of sex, you need to appeal to his animal instincts.”

“I don’t know how.” Cas hates the note of desperation in his voice.

“Castiel,” Balthazar says, voice dropping into a throaty purr. He straightens up and steps forward, crowding against Cas and raising one hand to trail down Cas’ arm. His fingers catch in the cuff of Cas’ button-down, and Cas shivers when they whisper across the inside of his wrist. Balthazar leans in, eyes heavy-lidded and smoldering, and languidly presses one thigh between Cas’. “You need to be the pursuer. Show him what you want, how you need him to touch you, by touching him that way.” His cheek brushes against Cas’ when he dips his head further, his lips trailing against the shell of Cas’ ear. “Set the hook and reel him in.” He leans back and pulls Cas forward with the hand still gripping his wrist. His lips are just scant millimeters from gliding across Cas’ when Cas jerks back, eyes wide. He stumbles and pulls his arm away from Balthazar for a second time, blinking wildly and taking in several big gasps of air. Just that easily, whatever spell Balthazar had been weaving breaks.

Balthazar laughs, but it doesn’t have his usual cruel edge. “You see? The easiest way to make someone want you is to show you want them in return.”

Cas’ stomach clenches. If only if were that easy. “You are a menace,” he says, taking another step back for good measure.

“Too true,” Balthazar agrees with a grin and a wink. He turns toward the exit, and when Cas doesn’t follow, he glances back over his shoulder. “Walk you to your car?”

As disturbing as the interlude with Balthazar was, it gives Cas a lot to think about on his drive home. He’s never been the sexual aggressor; he never imagined he ever would be. Now that Dean knows and has accepted him, the desire to be with Dean—to experience the next step in their relationship—is almost an obsession. He wants to give Dean pleasure, but he isn’t sure Balthazar’s tactics will work. Dean already knows Cas doesn’t want him sexually.

Cas hasn’t come to any conclusions by the time he gets home. There are lights on in Dean’s living room, so he goes straight to Dean’s door instead of going home.

Dean gives him a light peck as soon as the door closes behind him. “I was afraid I wouldn’t see you tonight.”

Biting back a sigh, Cas drops his bag on the floor by the door and toes his shoes off before answering. “We’ve almost gotten the issues worked out. Hopefully, this will be the last late night.”

“I was watching the new Bond movie, but since you didn’t see the beginning, you can switch over to _Gotham_ while I reheat your dinner.” Dean hands Cas the remote and pushes him toward the couch.

Cas follows him to the kitchen instead. “It’s okay, Dean. Finish your movie, and I’ll get dinner.”

“Nah, I’ve been sitting on my ass all night. Go sit down, and I’ll bring your dinner out.” Dean looks up from the container he pulled out of the fridge. “I missed you. Just let me take care of you a little, okay?”

Shimmers of warmth radiate through Cas. He gives Dean a soft smile and takes himself out to the living room to wait. There’s a bottle of sweet tea on the side table at Dean’s end of the couch. The sense of fulfillment from having been together long enough to have ends-of-the-couch chases away Cas’ frustration. Dean is just doing what he thinks is right, the perfectly considerate, supportive boyfriend. While it's not what Cas wants, it’s far better than being berated and abandoned.

They make it through their television show while Cas eats. Even leftover, Dean’s macaroni and cheese bake is delicious. Cas sips the mug of hot decaf tea that had appeared on the coaster at his end of the couch after he sat down. When he sets the empty plate on the coffee table, Dean turns so they can stretch out and pulls Cas back against his chest. Cas relaxes, cocooned by Dean’s body, and he drifts while Dean puts on the next episode.

The heat of Dean’s body under him, the smell of Dean’s cologne, and the warm pressure of Dean’s hand on his hip drag Cas under. Remembering what Balthazar said, he lets his hand slip down until it’s resting on Dean’s thigh. His heart hammers in his chest, but Dean doesn’t react, even when Cas drags his fingers over the soft, cotton inseam. He trails his fingers up and down, then tilts his head to press his lips to Dean’s throat. Increasing the pressure, he drags his fingers a little higher. He flicks his tongue out across the pulse point just below Dean’s ear, and Dean’s breath stutters.

“Cas?” he breathes, not turning his head. With a soft hum, Cas arches his back, pushing his hips back to nudge against Dean’s crotch. There’s a faint twitch of movement against his backside and Dean groans.

“Come on, Cas, stop moving.” Dean’s voice is throaty, lower than usual, and Cas has the sudden unbidden desire to hear it break. He shifts again, grinding back against Dean’s hardening erection, and presses his open mouth against Dean’s throat again. This time, though, instead of licking, he sucks a quick, wet red mark. Dean’s cock pulses again and Cas smiles against the warm skin.

The smile only lasts a moment, because Dean suddenly shoves him until they’re both sitting up, inches of space between them. “You can’t—Jesus, Cas. Do you have any idea what you’re doing? You can’t do that.”

Cas licks his lips and lets his eyes linger as he drags his gaze from Dean’s crotch up to his eyes. The bulge in his sweatpants is obvious. “Why not?”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and shudders. They’re a little wild when he opens them. “Because you’re turning me on. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Do I seem uncomfortable to you?” Cas purses his lips. “This was me touching you, Dean.”

“I don’t want you to do something just because I want it or because you’re afraid I’ll leave if you don’t. I won’t use you that way.”

Cas wants to scream. Instead, he takes another deep breath and lays his hand on Dean’s leg again. The muscles tense under his fingers, but Dean doesn’t push him away. “Listen, Dean. Listen to what I’m saying. I love you, and I want to be intimate with you. Just because I don’t enjoy the physical sensations as much as other people do, it doesn’t mean it repulses me.”

Dean’s face scrunches up. “Why would you want to have sex if you don’t enjoy it?”

“I don’t have to enjoy everything we do together to enjoy doing those things with you. I like doing things that make you happy even though they aren’t things I would do by myself.”

“We do those things together. They’re not things you only do for me.” Dean’s brow knits together in confusion.

Cas rolls his eyes and lets out an annoyed huff. “How is this any different? Just because I’m not aroused doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy being with you and sharing those things with you. We do other things together. I like watching you play video games and helping you work on the Impala, even though I don’t want to do it myself. I don’t see you pushing me away when I offer to hand you your tools.”

“That’s diff—”

“It’s really not, Dean. You do it for me, too. You go to the museum with me even though you don’t care about art at all. Sometimes, intimacy can just be about taking care of each other and doing things that give the other person pleasure. Tonight, you asked me to let you take care of me. Sometimes you can let me take care of you, too.”

Dean’s eyes are wide, and he studies Cas for a long time before he sighs. “I don’t know, Cas. I can’t shake the feeling I’d be taking advantage of you.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

Dean runs one hand down his face with a tired groan and reaches for Cas’ hands. “I need to think about this, okay? I’m not saying no—God knows I’d love to have an orgasm with you in the same room—but I gotta wrap my head around it. This can't be another thing like you offering me to Donnie to make yourself feel better.”

Cas flinches at the sharp ache in his chest and bites back a rebuttal.

“I’d still like you to stay the night,” Dean says, reaching for Cas like he thinks Cas might pull away. He lets out a soft breath when Cas goes willingly, curling against Dean’s chest again. The whole thing isn’t what Balthazar described, but it still worked out pretty well.


	6. Part Two - Cas

The garage door slides down behind him as Cas puts the car in park and shuts it off. He pulls the keys out, pressing one hand to his mouth as a yawn escapes. It’s been a grueling six weeks, but Cas has finished the biggest accomplishment of his career. He and Balthazar signed off on the final proofs this afternoon, and their project will go to print within the next week.

Cas’ head thunks back against the headrest. Weariness wars with satisfaction, and it’s only knowing Dean is waiting for him inside that gets him to push the door open and climb out. He stretches, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders and the bone deep ache. Balthazar suggested they both take a few days off to celebrate, and it’s not a bad idea. He’s earned it.

Closing the door separating the house from the garage, Cas stops and stares. Music fills his kitchen. Dean stands at the stove, hips swaying to the classic rock Cas has become more familiar with over the past few months. He’s stirring a large pot, the spicy scent filling the room. Cas’ stomach growls. It’s shocking he hasn’t gained weight since Dean started cooking for him regularly. It’s a far cry from the meager TV dinners he used to live on.

Dean looks up with a huge grin when Cas drops his bag on the counter. “Hey, babe.” He reaches for Cas, reeling him in for a kiss. Cas goes, melding himself to Dean’s side and laying his head on Dean’s shoulder. While they’ve gone no farther physically since their talk, Dean’s touches have been gradually increasing for the last few days.

“It smells good,” Cas murmurs, nuzzling into Dean’s neck. With his weight supported by Dean’s arm wrapped around his waist, Cas notices again how exhausted he is.

Dean squeezes him, stirring the pot with the other hand. “It’s an experiment. I combined two different recipes, so I’m not sure how it’s going to turn out.”

“I’m sure it will be delicious, just like everything you make.”

“Flatterer,” Dean says with a chuckle, but his cheeks redden at the compliment. “Go. Sit down, and I’ll be right out. Salad is already on the table.”

Cas glances through the doorway and sees that Dean already set the table, complete with a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket. He turns to Dean with one eyebrow cocked. “Are we celebrating something?”

“You deserve a nice meal after all the hard work you’ve been putting in.” Dean spins away from him to check the firmness of the noodles boiling in another pot, then turns down the heat under the sauce. “I’m taking care of you tonight.”

Sitting at the table to eat is so much nicer than perching on the couch with their plates in their laps as they watch TV. True to his word, Dean waits on Cas throughout the meal. He makes sure Cas’ glass is never empty, clears his salad bowl and replaces it with a dish of steaming meatballs and pasta. After the main course, he serves Cas’ favorite pistachio ice cream for dessert. Rather than talking about work, they discuss what movie they plan to see tomorrow and whether they should join Charlie for Comic Con next month. It’s the most relaxing meal Cas has had in weeks.

It’s so relaxing that Cas’ eyelids are drooping by the time Dean carries the last of the dishes to the kitchen, refusing to allow Cas to help. He stifles a yawn behind his hand.

Cas startles when strong hands run up his arms to his shoulders. His head rolls back and a soft moan escapes when Dean kneads the tense muscles. Little waves of pleasure roll through him, turning him pliant and soft under Dean’s hands.

“You look dead on your feet,” Dean murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Cas’ ear. His breath is a soft caress against Cas’ cheek. “Go. Take a nice, hot shower, and we’ll turn in early.”

Cas rolls his shoulders, pressing harder into Dean’s touch. “You wanted to watch the new episode of—”

“We can pull it up on the laptop, so if you fall asleep I won’t have to carry you to bed.”

“That was one time,” Cas protests with a huff of laughter. He slumps forward and arches his back a little so that Dean’s thumbs dig into the tight knots around his shoulder blades.

“You’re heavier than you look.” Dean’s hands slip lower, massaging on either side of Cas’ spine, then trail back up Cas’ ribs. “Go. I’ll get the show pulled up and then load the dishwasher while you’re showering.”

Cas is loathed to get up, but Dean steps to the side and tugs on Cas’ hand until he stands. “Fine. I’ll shower.”

“I’m such a horrible boyfriend,” Dean teases, leading him to the bedroom. “You’re so abused. We better have Sam file a restraining order.”

Their clothes have gotten mixed in the drawer, and it’s Dean’s Iron Maiden shirt Cas pulls out when he goes for pajamas. “I’ll have him sentence you a thousand hours of rubbing my shoulders.”

“That’s not a punishment, Cas.” Dean’s voice is warm and indulgent. “Just say the word.”

Cas walks into the connected bathroom but pauses with his hand on the door handle to look back at Dean. He could invite Dean to join him. It wouldn’t be hard. They’ve never been naked together and the thought of being able to touch Dean’s body—and Dean touching him in return—is thrilling.

He opens his mouth to suggest it, but a sudden wave of apprehension crashes over him. What if Dean misunderstands? What if he expects things Cas can’t give him? Cas has made a mess of explaining what he wants in the past. He could mess things up again. He turns away and closes the door behind him with a firm tug.

Undressing, he steps under the warm spray. Steam wafts around him and the pressure of the water against his sore shoulders is almost as nice as Dean’s hands. He soaps up and washes, his hands gliding over his body in a perfunctory way. Dean takes so much longer in the shower than Cas does, but he knows Dean takes the extra time to masturbate. He slides one warm, wet hand down to cup his cock and balls. The pressure is a pleasant weight against his skin, but in the same comforting way that a hug is pleasant. It would feel just as good for Dean to touch him there as it did when Dean rubbed his shoulders.

He knows that’s not what Dean experiences when he touches himself, though. He imagines Dean’s cock in his hand instead of his own. The skin would be just as silky and warm, but unlike his own body, Dean’s would harden in his hand. Dean would arch and push himself forward, seeking greater and greater pleasure. He can imagine the noises Dean would make and how, after he was spent, he would curl, sated and content against Cas’ side. He wants that, to be the instrument of Dean’s pleasure.

With a sigh, Cas removes his hand and shuts off the water. He works with words every day, tweaking them for greatest impact, but he can’t find the ones that will explain what he wants. Despite his lifelong love affair with words, he’s never been able to get them to work for him.

Cas dries himself and tugs on a pair of loose shorts and Dean’s t-shirt. He always pretends he doesn’t notice what he’s grabbing, but he takes Dean’s clothing intentionally. When he’s wearing Dean’s favorite shirt, he feels connected to Dean.

He runs the towel over his hair again, squeezing out the last of the water, then brushes the damp strands back from his forehead. A night cuddling with Dean is just as good as anything else they might do. There’s no reason to be disappointed.

Opening the bathroom door, Cas expects to find Dean already resting in bed with the laptop. Instead, the laptop is sitting on the desk, the screen black but with soft piano music playing. Dean stands beside the bed, hands curled at his sides, radiating tension. Candles cover every surface of the room—fat pillars, tiny tea lights, and long tapers—resting in more candle holders than either of them own.

“Dean?”

Chewing his bottom lip, Dean steps forward and extends his hand toward Cas. “I thought you might like—” He drops his hand, squeezing his eyes shut before turning away. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“No!” Cas rushes forward and grabs Dean’s hands, pulling him around until they are face to face again. “Dean, it’s beautiful. Tell me.”

Dean meets his eyes for a second before looking away, his cheeks reddening. “I could, ah, give you a massage.” He looks back up, his eyes jewel-bright even in the soft candlelight. “Touching doesn’t have to be about sex, you know? You said yes, that you wanted to do that, but you like when I rub your shoulders and this way I can make you feel good without sex.”

Cas is silent for a long moment, so stunned that he’s at a loss for words. This is what he wanted, for Dean to understand that they can still touch. “Dean,” Cas says, his voice breaking. “This is, yes, I want this.” He leans forward and catches Dean’s lips in a soft kiss.

“Good. I mean, yeah, that’s great. I got oil,” Dean says, then rushes to add, “but you could leave your clothes on, too. Whatever’s more comfortable for you.”

Although Cas has been shirtless in front of Dean before, Dean has never touched his bare chest or back, and Cas has never undressed completely. Cas’ breath catches in his throat at the thought of how much he wants that. “I can take my clothes off, Dean. I trust you.”

Dean’s eyes widen as if he hadn’t thought about what it would mean for Cas to be naked in front of him. “I love you so much,” he says, reaching up to hold Cas’ face between his palms. “I don’t think you’ll ever know how much.”

“I love you, too,” Cas replies, happiness bubbling in his chest. Before he loses his nerve, Cas pulls the t-shirt over his head and pushes the shorts down. He steps out of them and throws all of his clothing toward the chair in the corner. He looks up to find Dean staring. The weight of Dean’s gaze leaves his skin itching like it’s too tight and he fights against the knee-jerk urge to cover himself.

Dean’s eyes travel down over him, lingering in the middle, then rising back up to meet his gaze. “You’re beautiful,” Dean says, his voice thick with emotion. He reaches for Cas’ hand and draws him over to the bed. “Here. Lay down on your stomach, however you’re comfortable.”

While Cas arranges himself on the fresh, crisp sheets, Dean uncaps the bottle of oil from the nightstand and lays a hand towel on the bed next to him. The first touch of Dean’s slick hands makes him flinch. As much as he wants this, there’s an underlying nervousness that has his muscles bunched with tension.

“Relax,” Dean murmurs, sliding his palms over the curve of Cas upper back. He braces one knee on the bed next to Cas’ hip and leans over him, using the leverage to increase the pressure. His hands trail down over Cas’ shoulder blades, fingertips kneading the bunched muscles around the bones. They dance down the long sweep of his spine, thumbs tracing the knobs and coaxing away the tension he holds there.

Cas loses himself to the soft, nonsensical rumble of Dean’s voice and the press and glide of Dean’s hands. Dean’s palms and fingertips are work-worn, and the calloused skin leaves Cas’ skin pleasantly roughened, like the tingle that comes from swimming in sand swirled water. The spicy warm scent of bergamot and sandalwood fills the air.

Cas is so lost in the sensations he barely notices when Dean’s hands slip lower, caressing the globes of muscle in his ass. “You have no idea how much time I’ve spent staring at your ass in those tights you wear when you go running. They should be illegal, the way they show off everything.”

Dean sweeps away the wave of embarrassment when he pours more oil into his palm and slicks it over the swell of Cas’ ass. His thumbs dip into the crack as he massages the muscles with long, sweeping strokes that end on his hamstrings. Cas ignores the heat that rises in his cheeks when he moans and parts his legs a little. Dean’s breath catches, the sound loud even with the music playing.

“Can I…” Dean’s words trail off, but his fingers rest against Cas’ inner thighs. It’s clear what he wants.

Cas shifts and wantonly parts his legs more, allowing Dean’s fingers to drift down until the tips graze the bottom of his balls. It is so intimate—like he and Dean connect through just that touch. His throat aches when he murmurs, “Anything you want, Dean.”

Dean strokes him there for a moment before becoming brazen enough to drag his hands up to brush his fingertips over the furl of Cas’ hole. The first touch is so shocking Cas tenses before relaxing again and shifting his hips to press harder into the pressure. “It’s okay,” he reassures before Dean can pull away. “I like it. No more than that, but it feels good.”

The soft sound of Dean clearing his throat overpowers the music for a moment. His hands move again, sweeping down the cleft of Cas’ ass, over his hole, and down the back of his balls, then back up. By the time he moves on to the backs of Cas’ legs, hands kneading the muscles down to the sensitive skin behind his knees, Cas is boneless.

Strong hands continue down over his calves, always tight from his running regimen. Dean picks up each foot, pressing his thumbs into the arches until Cas groans when the knots release. After giving both feet equal attention, he crawls back up Cas’ body, dropping little kisses every few inches. The last one lands on the back of Cas’ neck and Dean murmurs, “How is that?”

Cas is so far lost in floating weightlessness he doesn’t process Dean’s words for a moment. The sound drifts down, as if through layers of gauze wrapping, until they register. “Feels amazing.”

Dean chuckles and presses his lips against Cas’ temple. “Roll over then, so I can do the other side.”

When Cas is rolling over modesty overcomes him again. When he pauses, Dean strokes one hand down his side. “You don’t have to. We can just be done and snuggle.”

Cas pushes himself the rest of the way onto his back, splaying one leg a little to get comfortable. “I want you to touch me, Dean. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this; I needed a moment.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Dean raises one eyebrow.

“I’m sure.” Cas reaches up to run his palm down Dean’s still-clothed chest. “As a matter of fact, it would be nice if we had some equality here.”

Dean dips his head, eyes wide as he follows the trail of Cas’ hand down his chest. He swallows hard, throat bobbing. “I could do that.” He wipes his hands on the towel, then pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor next to the bed.

Cas looks his fill, eyes roaming over the planes of Dean’s chest highlighted in the soft haze of the candlelight. He’s seen Dean without his shirt on before, but he never had the nerve to look as much as he wanted. He lifts his hand to run his fingers through the soft sprinkling of hair covering Dean’s chest. It is thickest between his dusky nipples, becoming sparser as it trails down to his belly button, then disappearing into the band of his sweatpants. “Is this okay?”

“You can touch me however you want.” He holds still, allowing Cas to tease across his skin over and over until Cas drops his hand to the bed with a smile.

When Dean moves down his body, Cas closes his eyes. Firm pressure starts at his feet, then moves up, kneading his shins, then around his knees and up his thighs. Dean’s fingers dig in, finding every knot and massaging them until they release, leaving Cas quivering. He moves higher, fingers skirting the juncture of his hip and his knuckles graze Cas’ balls. He works up Cas’ hip, moving away from his groin, and Cas opens one eye. Dean’s gaze darts to where Cas’ cock lays soft against his thigh, then away again, as if looking is a crime. Sudden brazenness overtakes Cas, and he reaches for Dean’s hand. Dean startles when Cas grasps his wrist, eyes widening and breath speeding up when Cas holds his eyes while moving his hand to press firmly over his cock.

“Are you sure?” Dean says, his voice shaking.

“You can touch me however you want.”

Dean licks his lips and nods. He trails his fingertips down the top of Cas’ cock, stopping to circle the head with his fingers. His eyes dart back and forth from Cas’ face to where his hand strokes down to cup Cas’ balls, as if he is gauging Cas’ every reaction. He tugs on the loose skin, teasing back and forth, then slips back up to circle Cas’ cock again. His fingers tighten, squeezing the soft flesh.

Being touched so intimately for the first time in almost a decade is more overwhelming than Cas expected. The gentle reverence of Dean’s exploration leaves him breathless and for the first time in his entire life, he understands why sex is such a big deal. Tears spring to his eyes at the flood of emotion and slip from the corners. He reaches up to brush them away before Dean can misunderstand, but Dean’s eyes track the motion and he jerks his hand away as if Cas slapped him. His eyes widen with panic.

“No,” Cas gasps, reaching for Dean’s hand. He brings it back down, using his own fingers to curl Dean’s hand back around his cock. “Don’t stop. I’m just… Dean, this is the first time anyone has ever touched me this way. It’s, my god, it feels so good.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asks, his cheeks flushed. “You’re crying.” He reaches up with his other hand to brush more tears away from the corners of Cas’ eyes.

“Because I’m happy, Dean. I promise. They’re happy tears. Please don’t stop.”

Dean studies Cas for a long moment before letting out a long breath. Shifting his weight, he goes from sitting at Cas’ side to stretched out on the bed next to him. He resumes his tender caresses, teasing the skin bunched up below the crown of Cas’ cock. Brushing his thumb over the slit, he lifts it slightly to smooth down the underside. Cas closes his eyes again, letting himself get lost in Dean’s touch.

After a few minutes, Dean’s hands move on. He strokes across Cas’ abdomen, kneading up his chest, then massaging his arms with long, sweeping movements. He rubs each finger and presses a soft kiss to the palm of each hand before moving up to scratch his nails across Cas’ scalp. Cas’ eyelids flutter when Dean rubs circles on his temples, and he sighs at the feather-light sweep of Dean’s fingers across his forehead and up his cheekbones. Dean ends with one hand cupping each side of Cas’ face, so close they are sharing breaths.

“Thank you,” Dean murmurs against the corner of Cas’ mouth.

“For what?” Cas whispers without opening his eyes. Dean lingers, and Cas’ lips brush his as they move. “I should be thanking you.”

“For trusting me enough to give me this. For letting me in.”

Turning his head to find Dean’s lips, Cas intends a chaste kiss. As soon as their mouths meet, though, Dean makes a noise of such profound appreciation that Cas can’t bring himself to hold back. He opens his mouth, tongue sweeping out to lick across the seam of Dean’s lips until they part under the onslaught. Raising his head, Cas pushes into the kiss, tongue thrusting into Dean’s mouth in such a lewd way he would cringe if he could bring himself to care. Dean groans into the kiss, broken off sounds of encouragement that embolden Cas’ shamelessness.

With no warning, Dean shoves Cas back against the pillow, shifting so he is laying half on top of Cas. He doesn’t break the kiss; he uses the added leverage to turn the tide, ravaging Cas’ mouth instead. Cas is so caught up in the passion of Dean’s assault, he doesn’t register the way Dean’s hips roll against his thigh at first. After the several thrusts the hard press of Dean’s erection is impossible to ignore.

Cas brings one hand down to shove between them, wrapping his fingers around Dean’s cock through the soft cotton of his sweatpants. Dean lets out a startled noise and jerks back. He looks debauched, lips red and swollen and slicked with saliva. His chest heaves and he pulls in a few gasping breaths until Cas squeezes him again. “Cas, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Cas insists. He brings his hand up and grasps the waistband of Dean’s pants. “Get them off. Please, Dean. Take them off.”

“Okay, yeah, anything you want.” Dean shoves his pants down, kicking them off his feet, and when he rolls back down, he’s gloriously naked. His thick, hard cock presses into Cas’ thigh, the length of it like a brand.

Cas only wastes a second getting his hand around it again. Some other time, he wants to explore Dean’s body the way Dean did to him. He wants to have Dean’s cock in his hand when it’s soft and let it grow to full hardness under his fingers. He intends to catalog every ridge and vein, measure the weight of Dean’s balls in his palm, and press his fingertips to the entrance of Dean’s body. He’ll make a study of every sound, every shudder, every exaltation.

Right now, though, all he can think about is bringing Dean off as quick as possible. He strokes up the length and slicks the moisture gathered at the crown back down. Dean shudders against him, rolling his hips so he’s thrusting into Cas’ hand over and over. He bites at Cas’ neck, mouth sucking what will be bruises Cas won’t be able to hide beneath his collar, but he doesn’t care. He strokes faster, tightening his grip, and mouths at Dean’s collarbone.

The obscene noises Dean makes drown out the soft music and for the first time in his life, Cas loses himself in the passion. The words that slip out are like nothing Cas has ever said before, desires he never imagined. “Come on, Dean. I want you to come on me. I want to feel it in my hand, on my skin. Mark me, make me yours. Come on, Dean. Give it to me.”

He pulls his hand up, twisting his wrist and pressing his thumb against the underside just below the head, and Dean’s whole body locks up. Dean groans into the juncture of Cas’ neck, his body shuddering as his cock pulses. He comes, warm and wet over Cas’ hand, his release covering both of their abdomens and dripping down to coat Cas’ cock. Cas continues to stroke him through his orgasm, coaxing spurt after spurt out of him, reveling in the thick heat of it on his skin. After a few moments, Dean whimpers and reaches up to bat Cas’ hand away. His cock, still half hard, falls down to rest alongside Cas’.

While Dean continues to pant against his neck, Cas raises his hand and, out of curiosity, brings it up to lick Dean’s seed from his fingers. It’s salty and bitter, with a faint musky smell, and not as thick on his tongue as he thought it would be. Certainly not as horrible as he imagined.

Dean must sense the movement, because he pulls back, eyes wide as he tracks the way Cas’ tongue flicks out to clean between his fingers. “Holy fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes, and his softening cock twitches against Cas’.

Cas shrugs, giving Dean his most bland look. He can only hold it for a moment before the corner of his mouth twitches, and they both laugh.

Surging forward, Dean captures Cas’ mouth in a hard kiss. He shoves his tongue inside, scraping against Cas’ as if he’s chasing the taste of himself. After thoroughly ravaging Cas’ mouth, he pulls away and flops back on the bed at Cas’ side again. He flings one arm over his eyes and groans. “I never knew you were so filthy, babe.”

“You bring it out of me.”

Dean’s chuckle hitches. “That was the hottest thing ever.” He shifts his arm to uncover one eye and peers up at Cas. “It was okay for you? It wasn’t too much?”

“It was perfect, Dean. Exactly what I wanted, and I would love to do that with you again. Maybe even other things.”

With a weak moan, Dean lets his arm drop over both eyes again. “Don’t say shit like that while I’m still recovering from coming my brains out, Cas. You’re gonna kill me.”

Chuckling, Cas pushes himself up from the bed. Dean makes a weak grabby hand at him. “I’m going to get something to clean us up. As much as I like the feel of you on me, it’s getting dry and crusty. That’s not such an amazing feeling.”

He gets a wet washcloth from the bathroom and cleans himself up before ringing it out and wetting it again. Dean still sprawls on the bed when he returns with it, his breathing slowing. He murmurs appreciatively when Cas cleans him up, and even more so when Cas returns from taking it back into the bathroom and stretches out next him, still naked. Cas reaches down and pulls the covers up over them, rolling so he’s cradled against Dean’s side. Dean’s heart beats under his cheek.

They lay like that until Dean’s playlist ends and the candles sputter out one by one. Dean’s breathing slows and Cas’ matches it. They’re both almost asleep when Dean murmurs, “This is just the beginning for us, Cas. I told you, I don’t do casual cuddling.”


End file.
